


The Joy of Baking

by lynne_monstr



Series: Everything's better with tentacles [2]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Baking, But sadly no smut, Domestic Tentacles, Humor, M/M, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 08:24:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7883842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynne_monstr/pseuds/lynne_monstr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn is a menace in the kitchen. So are his tentacles. Eliot just wants to bake his muffins in peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Joy of Baking

“Damn it Quinn, put back the—” Eliot sputtered to a halt as he saw the bag of flour waving in the air next to his face, held by a thick, golden blond tentacle.

Directly beneath it, a trail of flour caught the early morning light, a stark contrast to the black granite counter-top. The messy line cut a swath through the kitchen all the way to the pantry. Where Quinn stood leaning against the wall, his hair a tousled mess and his eyes still faintly groggy with sleep. He was wearing a pair of low slung sweatpants and not much else. Not unless Eliot counted the lone tentacle visibly snaking out from behind him. A lone, flour-dusted tentacle.

Eliot raised an eyebrow. “You tryin’ to get yourself banned from this kitchen?”

“I’m trying to get you to come back to bed.”

Suspended in the air, the bag of flour bobbed as if in agreement.

“You’re the one who wanted fresh blueberry muffins in the morning. They don’t make themselves, you know,” Eliot replied, eyeing the bag of flour like it might attack him. Knowing who held it, it wasn’t a far off idea. Quinn’s idea of a friendly spar involved a lot more dirty tricks than what was generally considered friendly. Which reminded him, “Really man, are those things even sanitary?”

“Just as sanitary as these.” Quinn held up both hands, making a gesture Hardison had once described as jazz hands. The tentacle holding the bag jiggled, sending a puff of flour into Eliot’s face.

He didn’t sneeze, but it was a near thing. Instead, he wiped his face with the dishrag on his apron. “Watch where you put those things.”

Quinn pushed himself off the wall, bouncing slightly on his toes as his gaze drifted down Eliot’s body and back up again. “You didn’t seem to mind where I put them last night.”

“We weren’t in the kitchen last night,” Eliot shot back. Pointing his empty measuring cup at Quinn in an unspoken warning to behave, he took the flour, measuring out the final cup and giving it a good stir. A final dash of salt and the dry ingredients were done.

The tentacle, freed of its floury burden, brushed against Eliot’s shoulders. But not before patting his ass.

Eliot mentally shook his head as he combined the dry ingredients with the wet, ignoring the occasional poke at his hip as he worked. Because really, what did he expect. Asking Quinn to behave was like asking Parker to not swan dive off buildings for fun, or asking Hardison not to be the most scary-smart person on the planet with nothing more than a laptop and a plan. Quinn seemed to relish getting himself into trouble as much as he enjoyed getting himself out of it.

So when Eliot went to fold the blueberries into his newly made batter and found them missing, it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. Sure enough, when he looked over, there was Quinn popping blueberries into his mouth like the bare-chested menace to society he was.

Licking his lips, Quinn walked across the kitchen and offered the bowl to Eliot. With his hands this time.

Eliot eyed the bowl and was pleased to note there were still enough for muffins. “Why do I keep you around, again?“

A tentacle raced out from behind Quinn and poked Eliot in the chest. “Because I’m funny,” Another poke to his arm. “I’m good in a fight. And I’m—”

Eliot caught the tentacle before it could connect with his stomach.

“—good in bed,” Quinn finished, as a different tentacle dipped under the waistband of Eliot’s sleep pants.

The muffins made it into the oven in record time. Twenty minutes later, Quinn took them out without leaving the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my fic-a-day series on tumblr.
> 
> (I've realized after the fact that I've put this in a series with another fic, because they're in the same universe. And they are unfortunately written in different tenses. Oh well, I'll just chalk it up to a casualty of this being a writing exercise)


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